


Interrupted Traditions

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Christmas, Drama, M/M, Romance, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-27
Updated: 2009-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-05 08:20:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Russian Christmas, Ivan arrives in Harbin, China in time for the annual Ice and Snow Festival. During one of the coldest winters in Yao's history, amidst ice sculptures and lantern light, the two powerful nations must come to terms with each other's fears and feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interrupted Traditions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [catgirlprime](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=catgirlprime).



Winter came unexpectedly that year with blizzards so frightful that flights were held up, roads closed down, and tens of thousands of travelers stranded in Beijing. Yao crawled back into bed, wracked with cold pains. He glared in the general direction of Siberia, wondering glumly if Ivan still held a grudge about the contamination of the Sungari back in 2005. Revenge, he had heard Westerners say, was best served cold. And yet Yao didn't think _cold_ would warrant unleashing the wrath of General Winter on him the likes of which had not been seen for more than half the century.

"Why are your airports shut down?" Alfred bawled. "It's barely November. Heck, even Matthew's hardly got any snow yet. Don't be such a girl, Wang Yao!"

Yao winced. "Aiya, look at the news. There have been casualties—deaths even! Why would I make any of this up? It's bad for business aru," he shut his eyes and mumbled into the phone. "Besides, I know a certain opium-pushing pansy who won't get out of bed if he gets so much as a few centimeters—"

"Hey, leave Arthur out of this! He's a mild little guy and not used to snow, ok!"

"Mild—!" Yao sputtered, dissolving into coughs.

Hong Kong rushed to his side, pounding him on the back. "Take it easy, Yao-dage!"

"These Western countries make me so mad…" Yao wheezed.

Alfred's voice chattered from the handset: "Listen, I don't know what's up with you and Braginski right now, but seriously? Holding up international travel is too much. You two have gotta keep your lovers' spat under control."

Yao snatched up the phone. "I'll tell you what's too much aru! These winds from Siberia! And we are not fighting aru. In fact, Ivan and I haven't talked since August…" He trailed off miserably. It was true. Russia hadn't visited since the summer and China, being so traditionally preoccupied with the notion of "not losing face", certainly hadn't extended any invitation or tried to visit his northern neighbor on his own initiative.

Alfred was silent for a moment; Yao could hear the background noise of the news on TV through the phone. "I don't envy you, Wang Yao," the younger nation said finally. "That is the nastiest stuff to hit Beijing since before the Communists took power, what, 60 years go? But it's your vital regions, you know? Gotta take care of it yourself. Can't help you out there."

"Wasn't asking aru," Yao muttered, blowing his nose.

"Meimei and I made Wulong tea. Want some?" Hong Kong asked after he returned the phone to its cradle.

"That might help aru. Thanks, xiaodi." Yao lay back on his pillow and closed his eyes. It was going to be a long winter.

January descended on the hush of snow. Yao was obliged to head north amidst the cleaning up of the vestiges of a commercial Christmas. Cities garishly affected the accents of the Western New Year. The Lunar New Year which Yao still held near and dear to his heart would fall, ironically, on what the Westerners termed Valentine's Day this year.

Yao wasn't going to see Ivan, but—he sighed as he arrived in the city of Harbin—he might as well have been. Russian architecture adorned the charming Chinese city, distinctly round and brightly-colored towers defining the skyline. All white-wreathed by heavy snow, it wasn't hard to see why the world called Harbin, China the Oriental St. Petersburg.

A promise of ice and rainbow lights. Year after year, Yao watched this season transform his beautiful northern city into a glowing, glacial otherworld. By day artists of every nation, with caps pulled low and scarves pulled high, wielded buzzing saws, hammers, knives, and chisels. The dangerous and unwieldy weapons became delicate instruments in the sculptors' seasoned hands, shaping and forming the ice with the versatility of fingers on clay.

Yao let out his breath in a puff of mist, curling mittened hands over stinging cheeks, and let his inner poet take hold for a moment. "Like the tongues of dragons/Lapping life into frozen water…" By night, the statues and sculptures that filled Stalin Park would pulse with light and life and laughter, the whole world coming to see its incredible display.

The hum of saws and clinks of chisels faded away as Yao's walk took him out of Stalin Park and down to the banks of the Songhua River. The river was popular for winter-swimmers, and Yao could see many bare footprints, lots of towels, and piles of clothing — signs that a group had left the shore some time ago. Yao gazed out over the wintry waters that supplied the ice for the sculptors.

He spotted a lone winter-swimmer in the choppy waves, long, pale, muscular arms slicing, propelling himself with a power akin to a shark's through the frigid river, back towards the Stalin Park shore. Yao squinted as the swimmer came up for air. His eyes went wide and he took a couple of steps back in surprise.

The swimmer had now reached the shallows. He stood upright, water lapping around his belly button, and waded ashore, one hand mopping dripping ash-blond hair away from aubergine eyes.

"I-Ivan Braginski…"

Yao glanced around in consternation. His eyes landed on a pile with a heavy, beige longcoat and telltale white scarf. Somehow he had missed this earlier. Yao grabbed a striped towel from the pile and ran over to Ivan. The mud on the bank was wet and slippery. Yao barely caught himself and collided against the taller nation's chest.

"I'm sorry aru!" Yao pulled back, flustered, looking everywhere, anywhere but at the cascade of icy droplets gleaming down Ivan's broad chest.

"Today is…the 5th da?" Ivan rumbled, his voice uncharacteristically deep; it reminded Yao of the way he sounded when he just woke up and Yao was trying to coax him out of bed for breakfast.

Flushing uncomfortably at the memory, Yao raised his eyes to Ivan's face. "No aru. It's the 7th. Why…?" Yao smelled vodka strongly on the northern nation's breath. "You've been drinking aru!"

"Only a little." Ivan pushed past him, busily drying himself as he made his way towards his clothing. "Is none of your concern, da?"

"Ivan, I…" Yao clenched and unclenched his fingers inside his mittens. "I didn't know you were into winter-swimming aru," he said instead. "Where's the rest of the group aru?"

"Probably only just now reaching Taiyang Island." Ivan yanked his shirt down over his head. "They are all small, weak, and slow. I go there and back in less than half the time." He shrugged his coat on and wrapped his scarf around his neck. "What—" he started.

Yao glanced up at him. "This fell off aru," he explained quietly as he pinned the medal and ribbon back over Ivan's breast pocket. "There."

A dark leather-clad hand closed over the lingering slender fingers, brushing them aside. Yao dropped his gaze, awkwardly busying himself with pulling on his mittens. The crunch of boots on snow alerted him to the fact that Ivan was leaving. Biting his lip, Yao ran to catch up to his longer strides.

"Aren't you cold?" he called.

"Nyet. I drank, remember?"

"Ivan!" Yao stopped.

"Da?"

"I… I have questions aru."

"Funny. So do I. Why does Yao have a park named after my crazy old boss? Even I have no park named for Stalin anymore."

"You're not listening to me." Yao swallowed against the tightness in his throat. "I don't understand aru…"

Ignoring him perfectly, Ivan continued to walk into the city, and Yao could only run again to catch up.

"1898," Ivan said dreamily as he swerved to the side to avoid a canoodling young couple coming down the sidewalk from the opposite direction. "This was just a little fishing village. I remember thinking, _how cute_… at the time. I put the Trans-Siberian Railway through here, _Kitaysko-Vostochnaya Zheleznaya Doroga_, connected Vladivostok to Dalny…"

"Dalian," Yao murmured the name of his own city.

"Da. Very beautiful place by the sea. I miss it."

Yao winced. Russia had occupied not only Dalian but a great deal of China's northern territory in the past century. Ivan eventually lost control of most of the land after fighting Honda Kiku in the Russo-Japanese War. A lot of time had passed since then, but it still wasn't something Yao liked to talk about with Ivan, or anyone for the matter.

"You're not angry about the chemical spill in Songhuajiang — about the Sungari River at the end of 2005. It can't be that aru. You could have pressed charges, but you didn't. You wouldn't have spent that year with me in 2006 if you were angry then. You wouldn't have invited me to spend 2007 with you either aru. And you certainly wouldn't have been swimming in it today. Can't you tell me why, Ivan?"

"Why?" the big nation repeated innocently.

Yao grabbed Ivan's arm and felt him—clearly felt him—reflexively pull away. He held on. "Why you're so cold to me aru."

"How am I cold? We had the biggest joint military exercise in our history this summer, da? This year is the 60th anniversary of our relationship after the end of the Cold War, da?"

"You know what that was for! That was a show aru, for the world, for the rest of them. Telling everyone…that we were together aru. You flew back to your house afterwards—you left Shenyang so fast I thought something was wrong. But you wouldn't tell me anything aru. And then this fall, the Siberian winds in Beijing… I was so hurt and confused, Ivan. You're here now, I don't know why, but I deserve an explanation aru!"

Yao looked up into wide purple eyes and was startled to discover a look akin to confusion or apprehension there. "Ivan…"

"The Ice and Snow Festival," the big nation said simply.

"Aru?"

"In Harbin every year. I am here for the festival, just like the other nations."

"No, Ivan. That's not what I was asking aru—"

"Hm~" Ivan hummed, his voice taking on those childish tones that were impossible to reason with. "I'm hungry now. We go get something to eat, da?"

"I—"

"Come." To his surprise, the bigger nation took hold of his hand and pulled him along.

Soon, they joined the hustle and bustle of Central Street, a popular international avenue lined with French boutiques, Japanese restaurants, American eateries, and little Russian bakeries. Yao saw the blithe little smile on Ivan's face and could only shake his head and smile himself.

"Alright. Let's get something."

They emerged from the shop, Ivan carrying a round loaf of _khleb_, which he broke in half, and handed one half—piping hot—to Yao. Yao cradled the large chunk in his mittens and blew on the fluffy, brown bread, enjoying the feel of the steam as it rose to his face and the warm, baked aroma.

"If you're here for the Ice and Snow Festival," Yao said, "then we should go to the Zhaolin Gardens. The sun is setting; they'll be lighting the ice lanterns soon aru."

The sky was dark blue by the time they walked there. The Zhaolin Gardens were a different sight from the state of the art statues that Stalin Park boasted. Instead, lanterns graced the bridges, walkways, buildings, and trees. Each crystalline encasement harbored a soft flickering light. Yao turned away to watch the multitude of colors glinting across Ivan's eyes and hair.

"These are small and simple aru," he said, "but unlike the Stalin Park sculptures, they have saved lives."

Ivan gave him a questioning look, moving over to touch the icy lights.

"The ice lantern custom comes from ancient times aru. It was used by the fishermen on the Songhua River. They would fill a cask with river water, and after it froze, cut a hole in the heart of the icicle and place an oil lamp inside. It provided light for long, dark nights.

"So whenever the Spring Festival or Lantern Festival came, the people of Harbin would light their ice lanterns alongside the paper lanterns aru. In thankfulness and pride.

"For a time after the Communists took power, Harbin didn't have the Ice and Snow Festival anymore aru. I didn't bring it back until 1985… I didn't realize the whole world would miss it aru." Yao gave a little start as he felt Ivan's lips in his hair.

"Snowflakes," the big nation mumbled, patting Yao's dark head with gloved hands.

"Ivan…"

Soundlessly and without either of their awareness, snow had begun to fall. It came drifting down in giant clusters. Yao reached up and caught Ivan's hands in his, lowered them gently. Ivan looked down, flakes of snow caught and glistened in his pale lashes, melting in bunches that shone wetly like tears.

"_S Rozhdestvóm Khristóvym_," Yao whispered. Ivan blinked, dislodging snowflakes from his eyes. Yao smiled. "I know what day it is aru—January 7th is your Christmas in keeping with the old Julian calendar. I'm not the only one who treasures the old ways, even when they are so different from the rest of the world. It means a lot to me that you've come to see me today aru."

"Yao is not the only one with interrupted traditions," Ivan spoke, looking at their connected hands. "After the Revolution, my bosses denied Christmas for the better part of the last century. Until 1992, Christmas was all but forgotten."

"It sounds like we had a lot in common even during the last 50 years we spent fighting each other aru," Yao smiled wanly.

"Is no wonder the rest of the world thought we were together, da?" Ivan giggled.

They stood on the five-arched bridge overlooking the lake in the center of the gardens. The reflection from the water below threw lantern light back at the two nations standing side by side. Slowly, silently, Ivan moved his gloved hands up to Yao's neck; if not for the shadows, Yao would not have known until he felt fingers closing on his throat.

"Nyet… Yao is still so tiny. I don't know why."

"Why aru?" Yao repeated, hardly daring to breathe.

"In August, when our militaries worked together, Yao seemed like a giant." Ivan moved his thumbs, pressing on the smaller nation's adam's apple. "I wondered what had happened to my little Yao, the one who needed me. Your battalions, your tanks and rockets sent me back to the Kremlin threatened, knowing we could not be equals anymore."

"Ivan, listen to me aru," Yao gasped.

"I had General Winter send the winds of Siberia to Beijing in November. So incredibly easy to strike at Yao's capital city. It all did not add up in my mind. The Yao that became one with me, the Yao that fought me, and the Yao that fought at my side—how could they all be the same nation? And what happens now that Yao doesn't need me anymore? What happens if Yao becomes my enemy?" Ivan's eyes tightened. His hands moved away from Yao's throat, dropped to grasp his narrow shoulders.

"And then I come here. To Harbin. And I feel like I have not even left home. Nothing has changed, not you, not me, but there is so much fear in me that I can't reconcile what I see with what I feel."

"Is that…is that what it is then?" Yao put his hands on either side of Ivan's bowed head and made him raise his eyes. "You're _afraid_ of me aru?"

"I am right, da?" Ivan said in a low voice. "I am right to be afraid because I have been using you to counterbalance Alfred Jones's power, and you have been using my support to rise on your own."

"Then what is Harbin, Ivan? What is this city in me that looks like you? What is the light in these ice lanterns and what is this Christmas that falls thirteen days after the rest of the world aru?" A sob caught Yao's voice. "Why are you here after burying me in fifty years of doubt and snow?"

"I don't know." Ivan crushed Yao's much smaller frame to him. "I don't know." He unconsciously sought out the other's warmth, pressing his large nose to the soft skin below his ear. The cold air had been sterile and scentless but Yao smelled of medicinal herbs, cooking herbs, flowering herbs. Homelike and unthreatening. "Maybe I just want to see you. Maybe I just want to believe you."

"You can," Yao mumbled against Ivan's chest. "You can believe anything you want aru, no matter how powerful I grow or how mistrustful our leaders become. It's a good thing that I don't need you anymore aru. I see you for what I love and not for what you can offer me."

"I was afraid…" Ivan began. Yao kissed him. It was an awkward motion at first; he had to twist his face aside and push back against Ivan's chest so he could stretch up on his toes and bring their mouths together. But then Ivan lowered his head and Yao's hands found the back of his neck, warm beneath layers of scarf, and Ivan's lips were open, accepting, inviting, and once Yao was inside Ivan kissed him back with a hunger that was mindless yet merciful, making up for lost time, sharing secrets, begging, forgiving.

They finally pulled apart, chests heaving, breaths mingling, foreheads pressed together.

"_Kitay_," Ivan whispered. "You must let me, always, take care of you. So long as there is something I can do."

"You have never let me down, Vanya," Yao said firmly. "Never."

"Good." Ivan scooped Yao up in his arms before the smaller man could protest. "Because I am never letting you go.

"Now. Where's that hotel you booked?"

"Ah? Oh, we can take a boat from here. It's the ice palace on Taiyang Island aru. They have a lovely restaurant there—"

"Never mind about the food. But hotel made of ice and snow? Even the walls of our room?"

"Aiya, the rooms are private and fully furnished, warm and well-lit—you'll see aru. It is a 4.5 star hotel after all."

"The temperature is not my concern. I only worry about the walls falling in, da?" Ivan grinned.

"Now why would the walls collapse…" Yao caught the look on Ivan's face, shadows moving over his eyes making them burn darkly in the lamp light. "Vanya!" he battered at the tall nation's broad chest with his mittens. "Put me down, you big…beast…! Mmff!"

"_S Novym Godom! S Novym schastiem!_" said Ivan to a furiously blushing Yao.

At the end of the bridge, Ivan set Yao down on his feet. They ran together along the banks of the icy lake, through the garden filled with light and life and laughter. The snow fell so slowly it seemed as though they were suspended in time.

_Shi li pinghu, shuang man tian  
Cuncun qing si chou hua nian  
Dui yue xing dan wang xianghu  
Zhi xian yuanyang bu xian xian_

"Wide frozen lake, snow-filled sky  
Colors of youth, fear comes of age  
Moon-gazing alone, seeing each other  
Envy the lovers and not the gods"  
  — from _A Chinese Ghost Story_, poet unknown

**Author's Note:**

> \- Sungari and Songhua are the same river; Sungari is just the English/Western name  
> \- Yao's family members address each other with the Chinese titles of dage, meimei, and xiaodi ("big brother", "little sister", and "little brother")  
> \- _Kitaysko-Vostochnaya Zheleznaya Doroga_; Russian: Chinese Eastern Railway  
> \- _khleb_; Russian: bread  
> \- _S Rozhdestvóm Khristóvym_; Russian: Merry/Happy Christmas  
> \- _Kitay_; Russian: China  
> \- _S Novym Godom! S Novym schastiem!_; Russian: Happiness in the New Year (to you)!
> 
> External resources:  
> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harbin "Harbin - Wikipedia"  
> http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2009/aug/02/china-russia-relationship "Russia fears embrace of giant eastern neighbour, China"


End file.
